The Lost Feet

the lost feet
Give me endless plane rides
and bouncy overnight buses.
Give me days filled with stories
and starry nights.
Give me strangers and goodbyes.
Gently, let’s go somewhere new
to ignore the odds
and be destroyed in the most beautiful way.
In the deeper ways
Eating all of our unspoken words.
To make sense
of the chaos
Give me fireworks.
Give me places and people to feel
homesick for.
Give me the wander
and the lost feet,
and I promise
I will come for more.


Photo: Ivan Breslauer, Dingle, Ireland 2015.

The Search Is Beautiful

the search is beautiful

The search is beautiful.
The one where her mind and heart go to a place before unimagined. Where a blissful touch of summer warmth reveal the start of something new.
It caught her…
On winding roads… In the salty waters where the wondrous creatures swim. In between laughing with the like minded souls and warming her feet by the fireplace.
It caught her…
In all the quiet spaces, while marvelling at the moments that made her feel free.
Now she understands.
The search is beautiful and the fate is sealed.
Always moving, never the same.
Never calmed, constantly amending.
Truly it is another world when she packs the little she needs and begins to move.
Even where there may not be anything for others, she is where she wants to be…
In the smells of new places, completely drowned in wanderlust.
She is aware of the risks but doesn’t care, as she knows how soul-smashingly beautiful life can be.
Now she just can’t get enough.

An ode to the road trip. Three people in the car.
Nothing behind us, everyhing ahead of us, “as is ever so on the road” (Jack Kerouac)

It’s Time

It is time

Hey you,

It’s time.

It’s time to chase that spark again.


Don’t you think so?

To think of the things you love.

Hey you,

It’s time.

Gather your scattered selves and make them whole again.

Rub your eyes because, I am sure it is time.

You learned the things hard way. You risked yourself in the world. You kissed the pain.

And now it’s time.

To find the way home.

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The Call of the East (Istanbul)

The call of the East
I sit in the waiting room and watch the snowflakes stick to the airplanes. While I wait for the boarding, my eyes glance across the man in front of me. In a business suit and with a stern face, he plays games on Facebook. He nervously presses the digits on his mobile phone, while his face remains perfectly still. ‘A little bit longer, a little bit longer, and you’re there’ – I keep telling myself. To the East. To the East. We finally depart. My first solo traveling this is.


To the East…

It seems to me that everyone who spends a lot of time thinking, eventually find themselves setting off for the East at some point in their lives. The truth, the magic of the East calls upon every one of us, but do we all hear its call?

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Longing for the There, and not the Here

Angkor wat, Cambodia
It is a curse.
To long for the there and not the here. For wander and sore feet.
It is a curse.
To be present, but never fully. To be a slave of an never ending desire for movement.  


When one decides to tame what shouldn’t be tamed – himself, it feels like slowly dying. Soul feels it. Feet became impatient residents of one’s body. Eyes are getting hungry while heart whispers silently: “This is not for me. This is not for me”. But shush dear heart, don’t make it even harder.

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Living in a Treehouse

Living in a tree house

I’m not sure if I should tell this story. What if it never happened? Did I really find such a place, I wonder now, months later?
I will put the words on paper. It’s up to you whether you believe me or not, when even I doubt myself.


Years before….

As I sat with my laptop, sipping a cup of tea and browsing through travel websites, resisting tomorrow’s going to work, I found them on Workaway. I shook the head in disbelief and promised myself that one day I will get there – the south of Thailand, on a paradise beach surrounded by dirt jungle paths.

More than two years after, mini van left me in the muddy street. The rain that held back all day cascaded down. The roosters curiously followed my steps to a new home.

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“I will find you”

I will find you

I don’t remember the exact moment when I find it.
Thai people walked in silence around the temple and I sobbed like a baby. They stared at me. I stared at the big golden Buddha in Nakhon Pathom. So after two and a half years of waiting I came to Thailand to cry? In front of the Buddha?! What happened to me?!
I felt oceans of sadness pouring out. There I was. Finally traveling. Finally doing things my way yet I cried and cried, wondering what launches an avalanche of strange feelings inside me.


I started walking. I glanced at the monk who stood silently next to me in orange robe. When the last tear dried I felt a frightening void. But footsteps became lighter. Breathing became slower and all of a sudden I could feel myself.
What changed?


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How to ever fully “return”? (On going back “home”)

How to ever fully "return"?

It’s strange. One would think that it is hard to pack stuff in a backpack and sit on a plane only to wake up in the country where you will be a stranger. Without familiar faces. Surrounded with uncertainty in a completely different reality. 

Leaving is easy

Someone would ask why on Earth people would do it? Why would anyone consciously threw himself into difficult situations? Who would ever willingly chose to be sweaty, hungry, nervous, in a constant search for a place to stay and in the eternal care where the wallet and passport are? Why?? Why?!!??

As a woman who finally allows her life to be shaped by the coincidences and sweet moments, I ask a counter question. How do you go from new friends and new places to not have a hard time? How do you go from living on the island in Thailand where time is not important to European punctuality and money obsession? How to move from fighting like a warrior against the tuk tuk drivers; sometimes spending the whole day without eating, and for hours in the sun to the: “Lunch is on the table”. “You need to eat more”. Or a small talk, gossiping and negativity.
Aaaaaa! No one is to blame but once when you saw what others did not, you can no longer pursue with small talks.

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LOVE is the quietest part

Love is the quietest part

Travelers are the strongest people I know. We travel for adventure, for different and for the unexpected. We are strong, confident and know how to get by in 3892 different situations. I never met a boring traveler. “We travel for stories! What is a man without a story?!”, said my Argentinian friend Franco.


Our lives are formed by coincidences, chance meetings and unknown souls. We are not afraid of anything. We don’t break easily. We put amazing photos on Facebook and Instagram, and make you jealous because we swam with sharks or dived in Thailand or ate some weird stuff. We change destinations, we go in and out of people and comfort zones. Maybe you always see us smiling and think that we are completely in control of our lives. That’s mainly true except when it comes to one thing – love.

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We are Travelers

We are travelers

In the end, it’s all about the people we met. Wherever we end up we recall our crazy days, endless nights and journeys to new frontiers, literally and metaphorically. We might know each other for ages or we met by chance, but now we are friends for life.


And it has been going on for ages.

We pack our backpacks and in this constant motion we respond to, our wings spread. By leaving the well known world, magical gates with the sign „Wanderlust“ appear. Behind them is a parallel world where life is lived in a different, more rapid and more intense way. We can’t see it until we become part of it though the doors were always slightly open.
While at home we were slow and kind of passive, the Road dares us. It provokes us.

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